Ad Infinitum
by Chirugal
Summary: Sequel to 'Acta est Fabula'. Gibbs and Abby remember the events of a year ago, and reassess the damage that resulted. Gibbs/Abby, set in my Sir/Little Tease 'verse. One-shot, complete.


**Title**: Ad Infinitum  
**Rating**: PG-13  
**Spoilers**: Nothing in canon - just for my prequel to this.  
**Summary**: Set a year after _Acta est Fabula_. Abby remembers, and contemplates her place.

**Author's Note**: _Ad infinitum_ is Latin for 'to infinity' – basically, it means 'forever'. If you haven't read _Acta est Fabula_, I have recapped it here, but this fic would have more impact if you read that one first. Also, I have absolutely no idea about the US sentencing system, and I wasn't very successful at researching it, so Aldridge's sentence could be way off. Correct me if I'm wrong!

* * *

"It's been a year." Abby speaks quietly, gazing out of the window at the rising sun.

Behind her, Gibbs stands in the doorway to her bedroom, watching her with concern. She doesn't turn, but she feels his eyes on her and smiles a little. "Don't worry, Gibbs. I'm not gonna freak out."

"Even if you did," he says, his voice slightly rough with early-morning fatigue, "it'd be okay."

He's worried by her mode of address. A year ago, he sat on the couch in this room, drinking coffee and preparing to tell his submissive that he was dissolving the bond between them. He'd done it abruptly, severing all ties, confiscating the collar of ownership around her neck, and the ring on her finger that symbolised the same thing. He'd denied her the right to call him 'sir', which she does whenever they're alone together.

He hadn't told her why. He couldn't have. If Abby'd known that he'd received letters threatening her life from a then-unknown source, she'd have acted skittishly, and the sniper rifle aimed at her head would have delivered a bullet that would shatter both their lives.

It was the hardest thing he's ever had to do. And just now, a year on, she's addressed him as 'Gibbs'.

Abby touches the collar at her throat, remembering. He wants to go to her, to take her in his arms and reassure her that everything's alright, but he can't make that call.

For weeks, she'd gone about her work in a distressed daze, seeking him out on a couple of occasions to beg for an explanation he was afraid to give. He heard reports from his team that she was heartbroken; sensed their unspoken disgust at his actions; but he forced himself to stay away, unsure whether the man who threatened Abby's life was watching him.

Once she figured it out, she left a note on his desk and headed for his place, seeking out the case-file that he'd begun as soon as he received the first note. He'd managed to narrow his suspect list down to two, but while she was at his house, the extortionist had taken her.

Extortionist. God, if only he'd wanted money.

Abby was tortured. She told him the details later: Tyler Aldridge, one of the men under his command in Desert Storm, had cut the skin of her upper arms to ribbons with a box-cutter, and then had begun burning her thighs with a soldering iron. By that point, he'd enlisted his team, and NCIS's forensic resources, to help pinpoint her location, and after distracting Aldridge so Ziva could knock him out, he'd finally been able to take Abby in his arms again.

That was only the beginning of her suffering. She still has nightmares occasionally, even now. It took a couple of months for her to physically heal enough that she could move without pain. He'd re-collared her, then, and she'd joyfully begun to submit to him again – mentally, at least. The pain she used to relish reminded her too much of her ordeal, and ever since, their scenes have involved psychological tricks and mental bondage rather than physical ropes, cuffs and instruments of pain.

It doesn't bother him. Like he told her at the time, he'd have put aside all D/s constructs within their relationship if she'd asked it of him. Owning a submissive is a secondary concern to being in a loving relationship with Abby.

Today is the first anniversary of their forced separation. A few weeks from now will come the anniversary of the day she was tortured, and a few months after that will be the day she testified in court against Aldridge, who was sent away for twelve years.

It's hard to say which date – at least, which date before Aldridge's release – will disturb her the most. She seldom talks about any of it any more, and he honours her wishes to avoid doing so.

"I was broken." She says it simply, no trace of melodrama in her voice. "You just disappeared from my life, and I couldn't deal with it."

An apology rolls onto his tongue, but he swallows it. He's apologised more times than he can count, already – he's never been afraid to show weakness with Abby – and she's always told him that she doesn't blame him. "I know."

She turns to look at him, then, and her lips curve slightly in appreciation as she registers his shirtless state. The rising sun lights the room with a marmalade glow, just as it did that morning, a year ago. Her hair seems impossibly dark, by contrast, and her pale skin is almost luminous.

Stepping out of the ray of light, she crosses the room and stands on tiptoe to kiss his forehead. "I'm not gonna return the favour, sir."

A knot of tension he hadn't realised was there uncoils, and he pulls her into a tight hug. "Wish I could go back and change it, little tease."

"I'm not blaming you. You know that, right? I'm just… remembering." She pulls him to the couch, and he follows, letting her take her position at his feet rather than guide her up to sit beside him, the way he did that day.

He strokes his fingers through her loose black locks, and tugs gently at the collar around her neck. Smiling, she tips back her head, looking up at him without turning around. "The night before…"

Gibbs inclines his head, torn between two extremes as he remembers. That night he'd known what he was about to do, and he'd pulled her into bed as soon as they got home, hungrily tasting her skin, savouring every moment of their last night together until god-knew-when. He'd sensed her surprise at the lack of power-games, but she hadn't suspected his intent.

"You feeling like recreating that, little tease?" he asks.

Abby turns to regard him, resting her chin against one of his knees. "Maybe in a few months… after the anniversary of our re-collaring."

Leaning forward, he kisses her, encouraging her to kneel between his legs and return the kiss. She sighs against his lips, something she knows drives him crazy, and he pulls her into his lap, groaning softly as she straddles him and rocks her hips against his quickly hardening cock. "And now?"

"Re-negotiation," she whispers.

He blinks at her, unsure what to make of the word. She'd reset her limits within BDSM play after her abduction, seeing physical restraints, role-played kidnapping and any form of inflicted pain as too close to her ordeal for comfort. He's been careful not to violate her new limits in any way, keeping his disciplinary taps light and painless; symbolic, more than anything else.

"What do you need?" he asks, searching her face for clues.

"I wanna try and get used to being tied again, sir. Can we try?"

Surprised and pleased, he nods slowly. He hadn't been sure this day would ever come, and had almost resigned himself to the idea that it never would. "Why the change of heart?"

"He took away something I love," Abby explains, her brow furrowed with apprehension. "And I want it back. I don't know if I can handle it… but I want to try."

"Tell me when, little tease, and I'll see to it."

"Now?" Her lips brush his forehead over and over, impossibly seductive.

Her enthusiasm reassures him, and he nods, instructing her to get up and find the leather wrist cuffs that clip together to form effective restraints. Without hesitation, she does as he says, and he follows her to the bedroom, shedding his jeans.

Abby's pyjama-clad body presses against his back, and she rests her cheek against his shoulder blade, her arms encircling his waist. In each hand, she holds a cuff, and once he takes them from her, one palm strokes down his abdomen to playfully brush across the head of his erection.

He named her 'little tease' for a reason.

Turning to face her, Gibbs gives her a swift, hard kiss. "Undress, then get down on your knees."

She sinks into the position with unthinking grace as he sits on the edge of the bed. He beckons, and she crawls the short distance to him until she's kneeling between his thighs.

He holds out his hand for her wrist, which she offers to him with a small smile. He buckles the leather cuff carefully; it's been so long since she's worn them that it seems odd to be doing this now. After securing it in place, he trails kisses from her wrist up to her shoulder, paying as much attention to the fading scars streaking her upper arm as he does to the unblemished skin further down.

Once both cuffs are in place, he instructs her to rise and kneel astride his lap, picking up the heavy-duty metal clip that will fasten them together and resting it gently against her clit. "Beg me for it."

"Please, sir, cuff me?" Her voice is slightly unsteady at the contrast between the cold metal and her warm skin, and he nods approval, leaning forward to kiss her while he cuffs her wrists together behind her back. She draws in a shaky breath, pulling at the restraints to test their solidity, and nods. "Thank you, sir."

Gibbs watches her for signs of discomfort, but she appears unafraid. "Safeword if you need out," he cautions her, and after gaining her agreement, he guides her down onto his demanding cock, closing his eyes at the feel of her hot, tight flesh around him.

Abby gives a tiny cry, and he wraps both arms around her body, pulling her tightly against him and gently sucking the fluttering pulse-point by her throat, something she can never resist. She arches her back, brushing the hard points of her nipples against his skin, and he responds with a slow, provocative kiss that makes her whimper and buck her hips against him.

Relenting, he loosens his grip enough that she can begin to take him, letting the practised, unashamedly hedonistic surges of her hips drive him toward the brink. She bites back another moan, and he orders her to let it out, his breath coming fast and hot against her neck as she gasps out curses, prayers, pleas for release.

"You don't come until I do," he growls, and she tugs at her cuffs in frustration, her eyes distantly hazy with desire. The events of a year ago couldn't be further from her mind, and that's almost more of a turn-on than he can stand.

It doesn't take much longer for either of them. Before long, they're a breathless tangle of relaxed limbs in the middle of the bed, the ghosts of the past set behind them.

Gibbs unclips the cuffs, and Abby wraps her arms around him, nuzzling his shoulder contentedly. They lie there for a while, a blanket messily draped over them, talking softly about trivial things until she raises herself up on an elbow to ask, "So, were the cuffs good for you, too?"

He tugs gently on her collar, holding her gaze with a slight smile. "Proud of you, little tease."

It isn't often that he makes such open statements, and her expression brightens. "I know it's only a little step, but-"

"One step at a time," he reminds her, pulling her close and kissing the top of her head. "We have what we have."

Abby smiles; he feels her cheek shift against his chest, hears the warmth to her tone. "Yes, sir."

_END._


End file.
